


𝙝𝙚𝙧

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Because I want him to!! Political stuff is more interesting to me, F/M, He comes to Kings Landing with everyone else, Jon Snow Doesn't Join the Night's Watch, Reader Insert, Slow Burn, White walkers don't exist, cersei is bad but she has soft spots for girls in a disadvantage, cersei is kinda a badass ngl, cersei is really ooc in this lmao, cersei will take reader under her wing kinda, crossposted on quotev, lots of cliches in thiss, probably very badly written im sorry lol, reader is basically aryas new mom lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 06:59:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21032135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ──devil town is colder in the summertime, we'll lose our minds at least a couple thousand times///jon snow x reader





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> anyways lol tell me if you want any other love interests! they might be put on the backburner cause of the plot i laid out but i could definitely write them in, as long as its possible and nothing TOO creepy like tywin cuz that guys old lmaoo sorry tywin lovers (do you exist? do tywin stans exist? is that a thing??)

_The first time Jon had saw her was nearly a fortnight after she arrived. _

Jon had not thought anything of her, at first. A girl his age working as a maid in the kitchens wasn't a strange thing, just different from the other maids he'd known all his life. Not that he ever really interacted with them, anyways. The only thing different was that the blueberry tarts were a little tastier than usual that night, and all the nights following.

She'd passed him in the halls sometimes, yet she never once stared at him with curious eyes like the rest had at some point. She'd bumped into him once, and apologized profusely, then went on her way. She never once reminded him that he was the bastard of Winterfell, verbally or nonverbally. She treated him like he was a normal man. That was queer; but oh well. She _was _new, after all, maybe she hadn't heard. 

He started to pay more attention to her, though, after he caught her teaching Arya her numbers. Arya never liked being taught anything that wasn't archery or swordsplay. Septa Mordane could never get through to her, yet this kitchen maid was giggling and laughing as they counted up by seconds.

"Two, four, six," Arya stopped then, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. The kitchen maid's apprehensive smile grows, and she leans into Arya slightly, encouraging her to continue. ". . .Nine. . .?"

The kitchen maid laughs a bit; yet not unkindly and not unpleasant teasing. "Are you sure? Come on, you can do this. . . Think of the direwolf litters, if there's two and they have two children, and the two children have two children, and that litter has two more, how many?"

Arya stops to count on her fingers. It takes her a moment. "Oh, eight!"

Jon had mentioned her to Arya once after that. She went on a mini-rant, saying how she was so much better than Septa Mordane and how things actually made sense when she taught them. She said her name was [Y/N], and how she moved here from Bear Island. He found himself liking her already, though she might not want to be acquaintances with him. He was a bastard after all.

The next time Jon encountered her was at a feast. She was handing out the desserts, this time, baked apples fragrant with cinnamon. Theon Greyjoy had grinned when she got to him, placing a hand on her thigh.

"What's your name? I don't believe I've noticed you here before," _Typical, _Jon thought. He didn't know why, but he found himself annoyed with Greyjoy's ignorance. She'd been here for nearly a month, and not once did he notice her.

She replied in a reserved voice, her eyes impatient. "My name is [Y/N], my lord." Quickly, she hurried to the next person, pretending not to hear Greyjoy's calls to her.

The next time was when she came to get Arya for her lessons. Arya was with Robb and Theon and him, practicing archery. [Y/N] hurried over, a secretive smile playing her lips.

"Arya," she called, "sorry to take you away from this, but we've got a little something to prepare, isn't that right?"

Arya whips around, her face lighting up. "Right! Bye Jon, Robb, Theon!"

Jon realized what she was so excited about when Arya presented him with a poorly done stitching of him on his nameday.


	2. CHAPTER ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jon gets cliche and drunk and angry lmao

_"I don't wanna wear a dress!"_ Arya cries, frowning. You sigh.

"I know, Arya. But it will be better than having Septa Mordane nagging at you all night."

Arya takes a moment to think, and after a while, she resigns. "Fine. . ." you smile.

"If it makes you feel any better," you start, tugging at your own blue-gray silk dress, "It's only a brown cloth dress. It isn't very flashy, at least you don't need to wear any jewels or fancy shoes. Just that, and your leather slips."

"I guess," Arya grumbles, still a little defiant about the whole affair. "But it's still bad."

"Of course," you chuckle, a fond undertone in your voice. You and Arya had grown close after your first encounter. She was practicing with a wooden sword; not something you saw most girls do, so you gave her some tips and talked with her for a while. Lord Eddard found you two, and after a few conversations with him you were appointed as Arya's new tutor, though you still served in the kitchens every once in a while. Now, you two were as close as sisters. She joined you at the hip for most of her free time, and even Nymeria had grown protective of you.

"Sansa's so annoying." Arya scowls. "She's obsessed with the prince."

"Oh?" You muse, brushing your hair. "Is she in love with him?"

Arya fakes a gag. You burst out into giggles. "Sure, sure, let's not talk about that then. I think it's almost time for supper anyways."

The hall was alive with chatter and excitement from the King's arrival. The feast was plentiful- summerwine and a dry red Arbor accompanied roasted meats and fresh bread, honeyed duck, ribs roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs, so much that you couldn't tell how much time and work this took the kitchen maids. Bowls of iced strawberries and blueberries with fresh cream were scattered about on the tables, Lannister knights and Stark bannermen laughing and stuffing their faces.

Lord Eddard came first with the Queen by his side. She was as beautiful as the songs said, with eyes of viridian and shining golden locks of hair. Then it was the King with Lady Catelyn, next it was the small three-year-old Rickon Stark. The next, Robb Stark with and eight-year-old Myrcella giving him shy glances. Then it was Arya; she caught your eye as she was paired with Tommen. Her eyes were that of pure dread. You smile nevertheless and give her a thumbs up. Sansa comes next, Joffrey on her arm. She's radiant as ever.

Then the Queen's brothers come. The Kingslayer and the Imp, though you're sure that's probably not the nickname either prefers. It's obvious which is which, as well. Jaime Lannister is handsome, a gleaming white smile playing on his lips, golden hair tumbling from his head. Tyrion Lannister walks beside him, one black eye and one green peering out in a pragmatic gaze. He's only, what, three feet tall? Certainly a spectacle, but you're sure he's an alright guy.

Sansa sat with her friend Jeyne Pool- you remember Arya telling you about how she had given Arya the nickname 'horseface'- they were giggling, blushing as they gossiped, Sansa glancing at Joffrey and the Queen from time to time. Arya came to sit with you, away from her sister and the King and Queen and her lady mother. She was scowling as she walked over, eyebrows furrowed. Nymeria trotted beside her, looking almost as defiant as her. You ruffle Nymeria's fur when they sit down next to you.

"You're enjoying this event," you tease, a sly smile playing on your lips, eyes narrowed. Arya shakes her head.

"Hardly. The only good thing about this is the food." 

"It is pretty good, hm?" You take a slice of bread, chewing on it. A roar of cheers sounds from a few tables away, drawing your attention. Arya squints at it, trying to see what they're cheering.

"Is that Jon?"

You peer at the men cheering; and lo and behold, they're cheering Jon Snow, who downs another glass of summerwine. "I think so," you reply, "looks like he's got a man's thirst now." You laugh. "How old is he again?"

"He's your age," Arya answers, "a little older, though, when's your nameday again?"

"The thirty-first day of the tenth moon," you drop a piece of duck for Nymeria. She licks it up.

"Yeah, a few moons older then. He asked me about you, y'know. I think he _liiii~iiiikes _you!" You snort.

"I don't believe I've ever spoke to him before, that would be impossible." You boop Arya's nose, "what about that Mycah boy you play with, hm? I don't see why he wouldn't like _you."_

"Ew," she sticks her tongue out. "He's just my friend. I'm never kissing _anyone."_

"And what will you do when you grow up?"

"I _am _grown up," Arya defies, "but I'll go off to battle, like Father did. I'll fight."

The table with the cheers go silent; Jon Snow is standing up with a distressed look on his face, breathing heavily. Benjen Stark stands near him, but he's facing away from you, so you can't read his face. Jon storms off. He bumps into a serving girl on the way, sending a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the ground. Laughter roars in the hall; Jon sprints out into the yard.

You glance back at Arya, who's looking at Jon with the same curiosity as you. "I'll go check on him. . ."

He's brooding, face red and hot with tears when you find him. His direwolf walks beside him, his fur white as freshly fallen snow.

"What's his name?"

Jon spins around, startled. His direwolf follows, glowering at you in a silent threat. He relaxes when he sees who you are, but his direwolf does not let up. "Arya mentioned him, your direwolf, but I don't think she's ever mentioned his name. . . that's an important detail, I think," you smile, tone light. Jon stares at you for a few moments, perplexed.

". . . Are you here to mock me? Laugh at me?" His words are sharp, and his tone even sharper, yet you know it's just a mixture of the wine and embarrassment. He meant no ill will.

"So what," you shrug, "you haven't yet had your sixteenth nameday yet and you're downing wine like the Queen's brother. Obviously you'll get a little hot-headed and wrong-footed."

"I'm not a little boy," he scoffs at your implication. Ghost keeps glowering at you.

"Of course not," you reply, "just as I am not a little girl. Yet that _was _the most you've drunk in your life, am I right? Judging by the way those other men cheered you on."

You two fall silent for a while. Probably only minutes, but it feels like hours, so you break the silence. "What's his name?"

Jon looks confused for a moment before realizing. "Oh, uh. . . Ghost. He was the runt of the litter."

"Ah," you lean down to pet Ghost's snow-white fur. He backs away a little, like he's not used to anyone but Jon. Yet he does not bite your hand off, so you take that as a good sign. "Arya mentioned that. Its funny, how much your direwolves are like you Starks. . ."

"I'm not a Stark." He recites solemnly, dark eyebrows furrowed.

"Funny," you chuckle lightly. "You have more of the North in your eyes than your brothers."

He looks as if he's holding back a proud smile. He is, upon further inspection. He really is endearing, huh?

"Arya's Nymeria is just as defiant as her." Jon allows the corners of his mouth to raise slightly at the mentions of his half-sister. "Lady is as graceful and poised as Sansa. Robb's is as commanding as him; no doubt the alpha of the pack," you stare into Ghost's red eyes. They stare back, no longer as protective as they were only a few minutes before, yet they avert as quickly as you joined gazes. "Ghost is shy, isn't he? I've seen you two around in the corridors and the hall at supper. He seems just as dutiful as you."

Suddenly a rush of cold hits you. You don't know how you didn't notice it before, maybe it was the adrenaline of it all, but the air stings your lungs as you breathe and your breath leaves in visible cloudy puffs of smoke. The silk dress you're wearing wasn't enough to combat the cold, even though it was lined with leather.

Just as quickly as the cold came, it stops, and you feel fur tickling your face and a heavy weight placed on your shoulders before you look over to see Jon without his furs. His face is red, whether it was from the alcohol or the cold or something else entirely, you did not know.


End file.
